


Ear Piercing

by Birdbitch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ear Piercing, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he tries to do it, Jehan has no idea what he’s doing. The second time, he gets a little bit of help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ear Piercing

**Author's Note:**

> For Punk Les Mis Week.

The first time Jehan tries to pierce his ear, he doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing. He has one of his mother’s old studs—a tiny, golden pin head, unnoticed in the mass of jewelry she owns—and he read online that he should ice his ear and then jam a needle through where he wants the earring to go. The skin is turning a maroon shade and he figures it’s probably numb enough to take the sewing needle he pulled from the box at the top of the fridge and plunge it through the flesh hard and fast. He’s wrong, and he realizes it as soon as the metal pierces through, because he can feel it and there is blood and he cannot see what he’s doing. He perseveres, though, because it’s already out on the other side, and he works as fast as his fingers can go to get the stud in instead.

In order to hide it from his parents, he keeps his hand over his ear and plays, idly, with the strands of his hair, but they don’t pay attention to him enough for it to be that much of a struggle, anyways. If anybody else notices right away, they don’t say anything. It was botched and it doesn’t look good to begin with, if he’s being honest with himself, and it hurts and it still bleeds every single time he tries to turn the stud. But, he didn’t know what he was doing, and he still doesn’t, not really, and he figures it’s probably infected when there’s puss.

He’s in gym class and someone throws a ball in his direction and it hits him in the same side of the head the earring is on. Bahorel comes running over to check it out—he’s a senior, so he’s automatically a captain for whatever team sport they’re playing in class, and he feels obligated to make sure nobody gets hurt unless he’s directly involved. “You should probably see a doctor about that,” he says, and at first Jehan thinks he means the whole getting hit by a dodgeball thing, but then he remembers the ear and he makes a face. “Don’t blame me,” Bahorel continues. “It’s seriously infected.”

“I don’t want to have to re-pierce it,” he says, standing up. Bahorel shrugs.

“I didn’t want to say anything, but you’d probably need it re-pierced anyways. What did you use, a blunt safety pin?” It’s a joke and he knows it, but he still feels self-conscious and his hand raises almost automatically to touch the stud. Bahorel gently swats his hand away. “You don’t want to touch it, not with all the bacteria from the fucking dodgeball on your hand. Tell you what. Get it looked at, let it close up properly, and I’ll give you a good piercing.” Like that, he’s gone to shout more encouragements at underclassmen who otherwise wouldn’t have the energy to play at all, and Jehan watches his back.

(There’s a tattoo that climbs up just from the edge of Bahorel’s t-shirt and it curls around his shoulder and chest like a half-hug, and Jehan wonders if maybe he might know how to give tattoos, too.)

Jehan makes it to the doctor’s office after school, before his parents notice that his car hasn’t returned to the garage yet, and he’s advised in not so kind words that he should probably avoid any kind of re-piercing (or home piercing at all, in general). He keeps the stud in his pocket until he gets home.

—

“My friend Feuilly works at a piercing and tattoo parlor,” Bahorel says. He’s driving, but he keeps taking his eyes off of the road to look at Jehan, and it’s making Jehan nervous. “So he left a few sterile needles at my house the last time we hung out together. None of that sewing needle bullshit.”

Jehan hums. “Okay. And you’ve done this before?”

“If I wanted to work at the parlor, I would have gotten hired ages ago. I can do this.” He flashes a smile at Jehan before pulling into a driveway with a sharp turn. “My mom might be here. She’s great and I love her but she can be overbearing so don’t tell her that I’m piercing your ear or else she’ll get involved and it will be a mess for everybody.”

Bahorel lives right by the train tracks. There’s a wrought-iron fence around the house bordering a thin stretch of parched looking grass. In the backyard, there’s a dog house, but judging by the barking at the backdoor as they start to push their way inside, the dog’s in the kitchen. It’s a big mutt that jumps up on Bahorel as soon as he walks in, and there’s something to be said for pets that look like their owners. The kitchen they come into is small and cramped, but there’s still a table pressed against the wall with a television sitting on it next to a pile of newspapers. Bahorel’s mother is not home, it seems, and after giving the dog a rough pat on the head, Bahorel turns to look at Jehan.

“My room’s a little spacier,” he says, and Jehan nods his head.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I like it.” He does. It feels like people actually live in the house. There’s fruit on the counter and store-brand bread. Dishes in the sink. A dog food bowl. He likes it a lot, actually. Even so, he follows Bahorel up the stairs. Bahorel’s bedroom is bigger, but Jehan wonders if it’s because he needs the space. He fills entire rooms just by himself. There’s a big bed and a closet that’s filled with bright clothes and a lot of ragged looking denim and a bookshelf that goes from ceiling to floor. Most importantly, however, sits in the middle of the room. At one point, it was a table meant for a child to play at, probably with stuffed animals, and Bahorel explains that it was his mother’s, but the legs are gone and there aren’t any chairs. It’s raised off of the ground like a tiny, polished wooden platform, and on it is a package of unopened needles and a few pairs of earrings and a tea light.

Bahorel fishes a lighter and a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Do you smoke?” he asks, and Jehan doesn’t, not really, but when Bahorel offers him the one he had between his lips, Jehan finds himself nodding his head ‘yes’ and taking it. They pass it back and forth between them, flicking the ash not into a tray but onto a tiny saucer that’s mostly white but has rings of orange and blue and green around the edge of it and dirt stains in the middle. “Which ear do you want me to do?” Bahorel asks, and his eyes feel heavy on Jehan’s head.

“Can you do the same one?”

“I can give it a shot,” he answers, and he puts the cigarette out and pushes the plate to the side of the table. “Oh, shit, wait a second. I’ll be right back.” Jehan watches him jump up and leave. He might be making a mistake, he thinks, but at the same time, he likes Bahorel, and this is an unforeseen series of events that are happening almost with a dreamlike precision to exactly what he wants. Bahorel comes back with a bar of soap and a grin on his face. “Didn’t want to accidently stab you in the neck.”

“Thanks.” Jehan smiles, though, and when Bahorel leans forward to inspect his ear, he lets his eyes shut.

“This is going to be cold,” Bahorel says, and he opens one eye to see an ice cube in his hand. “Do you mind holding it there for me for a little?”

“Yeah. Sure.” It’s even more unpleasant than when he first tried doing it himself, and the ice cube feels like it’s melting faster than it should be. When Jehan looks down, Bahorel is pulling on a pair of latex gloves. It’s better, he thinks, if he keeps his eyes shut. “Um,” he says, “the ice has melted.”

“Just so you know, it won’t have really numbed the area,” Bahorel says, and he sounds closer. “It makes things easier to go through. But you’re still going to feel it. Is that okay?”

“I did it before,” Jehan answers, and he hears Bahorel laugh.

“Yeah, okay, fair enough. Do you want me to count to three before I do it?”

He thinks for a second. “Yeah. I think that would be good. I’m keeping my eyes shut.”

“Alright.” There’s a small rustling noise. “Oh, yeah, and what color earring do you want?”

“Surprise me?”

Bahorel laughs. “Alright.” And then there’s the sensation of the bar of soap being pressed behind his ear and the same hand holding it up also holding his ear still. “Take a deep breath with me, yeah? Okay? One. Two. Three.” It goes through fast and sharp and Jehan’s eyes squeeze shut harder and he lets out a whine, but after that, it’s over. It’s sore, but there isn’t a whole lot of blood, and besides that, it went through clean. The stud is in before he even knows what’s happening, and Bahorel’s taking his gloves off and getting up to throw them into a trash bin.

Jehan shivers and reaches to touch his ear, but Bahorel’s there with an alcohol wipe over his fingers before he can do that. “This isn’t a good substitution for soap and water,” he says, but he’s smiling and he lets Jehan’s hand go as soon as he’s done. “There’s a mirror above my dresser, if you want to take a look.” And he does, naturally, so he gets up and walks over and admires it. It looks a lot better than when he did it himself.

“Thanks,” he says, and Bahorel shrugs.

“Don’t mention it. It looks good on you.” He looks like he’s struggling not to say something else, and Jehan watches him with concerned eyes before it finally comes out. “I mean. Everything looks good on you. So. What can you do, right?”

He sits back down on the floor, this time next to Bahorel. “I don’t know,” he says. He’s quiet for a second and Bahorel, for once, seems like he’s at a loss for words. “Do you know how to do tattoos?”

Bahorel laughs. “You know, you can stick around here without me having to shove sharp stuff in you,” he says. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do tattoos. Why? What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet,” he answers. “I just wanted to know if you’d do it.”

“Of course. I like you. If you want me to give you a million tattoos, I’ll do them.”

Things suddenly feel very serious, and Jehan reaches his hand up for a second before letting it drop. “You do? Like me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked!” Bahorel closes his eyes. “This is so fucking. I didn’t think I was being too obvious about it, but like. Yeah. I do. A lot.”

Jehan nods his head. “Okay. Cool. Because I like you too.” Bahorel opens his eyes and looks at him and grins.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They sit staring at each other for a while before Bahorel laughs loudly. “That’s pretty fucking neat,” he says. “People never like me when I like them.” He pauses and stares up at the ceiling. “Do you want to get dinner together? There’s a Denny’s like, five minutes away from here.”

“Sure,” Jehan says. He stands up and helps Bahorel to his feet.


End file.
